The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “We’re going down there?” Spook peered over the ledge to see it led out onto an old metal fire escape.

  “Woah.” Acid flinched, banging her head on the window frame. “Bloody hell. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “I was being stealth-like,” Spook said.

  Acid rolled her eyes. “Have you got everything?”

  “Got my laptop, but what about the recording?”

  “We’ll get it now.” Acid let herself down onto the fire escape. “Follow me.”

  “Can’t we take the elevator?” Spook asked.

  “No,” Acid told her. “Someone will have heard that gunshot. We need to get out of here. Fast.” As if to highlight this, they heard a loud rattle coming from the end of the corridor – the elevator starting its ascent. Acid gave Spook a stern nod, then disappeared from view.

  “Hey, what about my rucksack,” Spook yelled after her. “Can you not… Ah, shoot.”

  She looked out the window. Acid was already half-way down. Behind her the elevator was coming to a stop. Spook picked up her rucksack and pushed it through the window, then climbed out after it.

  “Oh man.”

  She peered down through the gaps in the metal flooring. Three floors up sure seemed a lot higher from this angle, and all at once she felt unstable. Acid glanced up at her, almost at the bottom. She waved at Spook to hurry.

  “Yes. I’m coming.”

  Spook made her way down, not easy when her legs were made of jello. The archaic stairwell swayed and trembled beneath her feet as if any moment the whole structure might crumble beneath her. An apt metaphor for her predicament.

  At the final level, she jumped the last few steps before following Acid into the alley. She found her kneeling in front of a large pile of garbage bags – the place where her attacker had landed. Only he was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s he gone?” Spook gasped. “I thought he was dead.”

  Acid bowed her head. “Yes. So did I.”

  “Where is he?”

  Acid shushed her quiet and she did as she was told, fighting back the urge to throw up. She stared at Acid, hoping she was about to say something reassuring. But she didn’t. Instead she stood and strode purposefully towards the main street on the far side of the alley.

  “Hey, talk to me.” Spook caught up with her by the side of a busy dual carriageway. “Where are we going?”

  “The airport, of course. Like we planned.”

  “But what about the guy? Banjo or whatever he’s called?”

  Acid held up her arm as a cab appeared in the distance. “What about him?”

  “Well, he’s not dead. It’s a worry, no?”

  “Everything is a fucking worry right now.” The cab spotted them and indicated it was pulling over. Acid looked Spook up and down. “Look, I can’t think about him. We need to leave.” The cab stopped a few feet away from them and Acid walked over to it.

  “But won’t he still come after us?” Spook asked.

  Acid gave her the mother of all eye-rolls. “I don’t know. He’s got to be injured after that fall. But either way, we need to disappear as soon as possible.” She opened the back door of the cab. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Yes. Wait for me.” Spook ran over and clambered into the cab, shoving her rucksack in the middle seat – a literal barrier between them to match the metaphorical one. Across the other side of it, Acid huffed.

  “Didn’t think of putting that in the boot?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I mean the trunk.” She said it an American accent, mockingly nasal.

  “No. I’d prefer to keep my only proof of what happened close. If it’s all the same with you,” Spook snapped back. “I’m going to get justice for Paula, with or without your help.”

  “Whatever.” Acid leaned forward. “Driver, Charles de Gaulle. S’il vous plaît.”

  Thirty-Four

  Terminal 2D of Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport was an impressive building with a large concrete facade that harked back to the stark brutalist architecture of the sixties. Acid had always found it to be a calming place to fly out from. The check-in area and departure lounge had both been renovated in the last ten years, and she found the vaguely futuristic styling – the white archways, the expansive glass ceiling – both pleasing and relaxing. Though admittedly, on her previous visits she’d been returning home from a job well done. Today, not so much.

  It was starting to rain as the cab pulled up outside. Acid paid the fare then went to the check-in desk while Spook used the bathroom. Once reunited they went through security, passport control, all without a hitch, and made their way to the departure lounge. Neither of them said one word to the other the whole time.

  The silence continued as they found seats in the vast open-plan lounge and Acid fell into a deep trance of contemplation. Her skin felt like gossamer and a dense wave of restlessness clouded her thoughts. She could have sat there for hours, but she was roused from her stupor by a sharp elbow digging into her ribs.

  “Acid? Do you want anything?” The tone implied it wasn’t the first time Spook had asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to get a coffee.”

  Acid grimaced. The last thing she needed right now was caffeine. She told Spook no, and watched as she sauntered away without a care in the world. Same as always.

  A young man in suit trousers and a white polo shirt walked over. “Is anyone sat here?” he asked, pointing to the seat on the other side. He was English and oozed a particular red-cheeked, public-school confidence only accessible to those who’d never had to worry about life.

  “No, mate. You go for it.” Acid twisted in her seat, putting her back to him and checking her passport and credit card. They were still in the inside pocket of her jacket where she always carried them. Ready for times like this when she had to leave everything behind. The name on both read, Melissa Font. Who she was until she met with Tariq. It could be worse. She pulled the new plane tickets from her jeans pocket and folded them around the passport.

  “Did you see? The plane to London is boarding.” Spook stood over her, sipping at a Starbucks. “Gate seventeen.”

  Acid didn’t move. “We aren’t going to London.”

  “How do you mean? I thought we had to meet that guy?”

  “Not until tomorrow. Sit down. We’ve got another hour before we board.” Spook did as she was told and Acid turned to her. “You see, when I went to the desk before, I booked us on a new flight. To Scotland.”

  “Oh? Why? Oh…” The realisation hit her.

  “Yes. I need to say goodbye to my mum. I might not get chance again. I know I said I’d help you disappear, and I will, but I need to do this first.” She paused. “Look. It’s been a rough few days. We’ve both been under a lot of pressure.”

  Spook giggled. “Sounds like something a married couple would say.”

  “Don’t joke,” Acid told her, side-stepping the flirtation. “Listen, Spook, whatever you decide to do with that recording, I meant what I said. I can’t help you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Spook turned and sipped at her coffee. “Sorry, I just hoped you’d change your mind. You know, because of your mom, and what happened. And…”

  “Yes. I know you thought that. That’s why I’m telling you again. None of this should have happened. None of it.”

  She didn’t turn around, watching instead a young family play together across the far side of the lounge, the mum and dad laughing as their little girl tossed a rag doll up in the air.

  “Fine,” Spook snarled. “You do what you have to. Only, I see you, Acid. Sure, you have this sharp, merciless persona. No doubt that helps you do what you do. But there’s more to you. I know it.” Acid sneered audibly, but Spook went on. “You say you want salvation. How are you going to get it if you ignore your emotions?”

  “For heaven’s sake, I never said I wanted bloody salvation. That was Banjo.”

 
; “Well, what do you want?”

  Acid scowled. “Some peace and bloody quiet would be a start.”

  Spook leaned into her. “You won’t get any kind of closure on your past if you keep pushing your feelings down.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.” Acid popped the collar on her jacket and sunk into the seat. “Jesus Christ. Closure. Bloody Americans.”

  The comment killed the short conversation dead and another long silence endured. It continued as they boarded the flight to Glasgow. Continued as the plane trundled onto the runaway and picked up speed. Continued as they became airborne and the seat belt signs pinged off. They’d been in the air for over ninety minutes before Spook broke the deadlock.

  “Where will you go?” she asked.

  It was a good enough question. If only Acid had a good answer. “Italy, perhaps. Where my mum was born. Up in the mountains, as off-grid as I can find.”

  “In case they come looking for you?”

  “Well, yes.” She looked at Spook. “But more than that, I need to escape. From everything. From Acid Vanilla especially.”

  “I see,” Spook said. “Will you be Alice again?”

  Acid gripped the armrest. “No. I’ve told you about that.”

  “What does your mom call you?”

  “My mother doesn’t call me anything. She doesn’t know who the hell I am.” Then, to herself, “Makes two of us.”

  Spook twisted in her seat. “What was that?”

  “Forget it.”

  Acid was about to press the button to call the hostess, but she stopped herself. She couldn’t handle the disapproving look. She’d get a drink later.

  “Will you tell me about your mom?” Spook asked. “I’ll meet her soon enough. Is she – was she – like you?”

  “What, a sarcastic cow with a death wish?” Acid said. Then quieter, “I don’t want to talk about my mother. It is what it is. I just need to see her. Say my piece. That’s all I can think about. After that, who knows.”

  “Fair enough.” Spook put her hand over Acid’s. “I understand.”

  Acid snatched her hand away. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You look so sad,” Spook replied. “I was trying to be a friend.”

  “Jesus. We aren’t friends, Spook. I don’t know if you remember, but a few days ago I was ready to kill you.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t. You saved my life. Three times. That’s got to mean something.” She moved her head so Acid had to look at her. “And what about yesterday? In the hotel room…’

  Acid rolled her eyes. “Here we are, I’ve been waiting for this. I told you, yesterday was a one-off. It was a symptom of something else. I make bad choices when I’m… when I can’t think straight. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  She spat the words out. She was being harsh, but it was true. Acid Vanilla didn’t have friends. It was so much easier that way.

  “What if I came with you?”

  Acid didn’t answer. She continued to stare at the back of the seat in front.

  “We could hide out in Italy. Then once we’re safe, I can release the recording. Show the world what they did.”

  Acid closed her eyes. “Stop it, Spook. It’s over.”

  “But those bastards have to pay for what they did.” Her voice was rising to a shrill roar but she caught herself in time, whispering, “Come on, Acid, they killed an innocent sex-worker, left a young kid without a mom.”

  “Yes, I know, they deserve to die. And you know what? I would love nothing more than to be the person to do it. But I can’t help you.”

  “But don’t you think it sucks? People like Whitman think they can do whatever they want and get away with it.”

  “People like Whitman have been my bread and butter.” Acid sighed. “I’m no hero, Spook. I’m sorry.”

  Above their heads the seat belt sign lit up. They were starting their descent into Glasgow. From here they had a two-hour wait before catching their connection to Stornoway. They’d get to Louisa around 9 p.m. From there they’d take another plane to London, meet up with Tariq and then get out of England forever.

  Outside, dusk was fading into night. Thirty-thousand feet below them tiny pinpricks of illumination hinted at cities and roads. Acid turned her face to the window. Mouthed, Sorry, into the clouds. Though who she was apologising to, she wasn’t sure. Her mother? Spook? Paula Silva? Maybe it was all of them. Maybe none.

  She sat back in her seat. She was doing the right thing, she told herself. She couldn’t save everyone. Hell, she was struggling to save herself. But soon she’d see her old mum, tell her she loved her, tell her she was sorry. Maybe one day she’d go back for her – take her out of that depressing care home and back to Italy. Somewhere warm and peaceful, away from the horrors of the world. Somewhere safe.

  Whatever the bloody hell that meant.

  Thirty-Five

  Acid peered out the window as the taxi pulled into the gravel driveway of Foiseil Blar House. Standing there now, in the ethereal glow of moonlight, it looked even more ominous than usual.

  “This it?” Spook asked, from the back seat. “It looks kind of deserted.”

  Acid ignored her, but she was right. Not that the convalescent home ever bounced with merriment, but something about the place this evening seemed off. It was quiet. Too quiet.

  “It is late, I guess,” Spook went on. “Maybe everyone’s asleep?”

  “I called from the airport and spoke to one of the carers,” Acid replied, twisting around in her seat to look at her. “They’re expecting me. I think she likes me, so…”

  Spook stiffened. “Oh. I see.”

  “Oh calm down,” Acid told her. “Anyway, you can wait for me outside. I won’t be long.”

  “Erm, no. Scotland’s freezing.” The taxi came to a stop in front of the stone steps leading up to the main entrance.

  “All right,” Acid said. “But if anyone asks, you’re my cousin, Louisa’s niece. It’s family only. I made sure of it.”

  Acid paid the driver and the two women got out, Spook wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m still not sure about this,” she said.

  “It’s fine. Trust me.” The taxi drove away and Acid walked up to the entrance, pushed on the intercom. She heard a loud rasping buzz echo down the stark corridor beyond, but no one let them in, no one came to the door. The two women stared through the glass panels at the top of each door, peering into the gloom. There was a light on in reception, and beams of light emanated from each room along the corridor. But no sign of life.

  “Do you see anyone?” Acid asked, putting her hand over her eyes to shield the glare of the moonlight.

  “Nope, no one.”

  Acid buzzed again. Nothing. She grabbed the door handle and gave it a twist. It pulled open with ease.

  Her heart sank.

  “Normally the place is like Fort Knox.” She stepped tentatively inside and over to the Plexiglas window of reception. Acid had never visited her mother this late. Maybe this was normal. But she still hoped to see Mary’s rosy-cheeked face as she got up to the window.

  “Aw, no.”

  “What is it?” Spook asked.

  Acid didn’t reply. She couldn’t speak. Mary was there all right. Sat where she always was. But rather than the usual beaming smile, she wore a mask of pure horror, her mouth frozen in an eternal scream.

  “What is it?” Spook asked again as she joined Acid at the window. “Oh shit.”

  They stared wide-eyed at the poor woman’s blood-soaked blouse. At the blood spatter up the wall. And at the deep wound that had opened her neck from ear to ear.

  “Who would do this?” Spook gasped.

  But Acid was already half-way down the corridor. She yanked a fire extinguisher from the wall and brandished it over her head as she kicked open the next set of double doors. Down the next corridor and to the end room she went as the scene got more bloody. It wasn’t just Mary they’d killed. Dead bodies were strewn everywhere. Some had been
shot, some stabbed, but all had the same rictus grin of fear painted across their white faces.

  Acid scanned each bedroom as she passed. There were young and old, patients and carers alike. Some visitors, too. Families. Children. All dead. All murdered.

  She got to the end room and stopped. The door was ajar and the light was on. Acid put her ear to the gap. Listening. Not wanting to enter. No sound came from the room.

  She pushed the door open and slowly put her head around.

  “Oh Mum. No.”

  Acid dropped the fire extinguisher to the floor and went to the old woman. She was sat in her usual armchair, facing out over the rolling fields. Her eyes were open, but she saw nothing now. Acid laid her hand on her mum’s shoulder. She seemed smaller than the last time she was here, more delicate. They’d slit her throat. The same as Mary.

  “You bastards,” Acid whispered.

  She gently took hold of Louisa’s forehead and leaned her forward. It was a futile act. An attempt to close up the wound. She was stone cold. Acid brushed a strand of grey hair from her face and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m so sorry, Mum.”

  A part of her wished she could cry, but she was glad she didn’t.

  “Is that…?” Spook, at the door.

  Acid didn’t look up. “Yes. This is Louisa. My old mum.” The words almost set her off. Almost.

  Spook came nearer. “Was this…?”

  “Caesar. Got to be.”

  “I thought no one knew about your mom.”

  “They didn’t. But this is him. I know it.” She pulled her mother’s lifeless body to her. Held her against her chest. “But this is on me just as much. I did this. I let her down.” In the silence that followed her words, a grim stillness fell over them. She clung tighter to her mum, pulling her closer. “Wait. What is that?” Acid held Louisa at arm’s length. She’d felt something under her clothing. Something hard. She stepped back and pulled open Louisa’s robe, fumbling at the thin nightshirt underneath. A small box was strapped around her chest, with two wires protruding from either side of the unit. Acid tugged at them, finding they led down to another larger package belted around Louisa’s waist.